Half Empty
by Lucy Hale
Summary: Bobby does some late-night thinking.


I'm gonna lose him.

Yep, days into this thing, I know it like I know my own name. It's inevitable. I'm gonna lose him.

Yeah, so I'm a pessimist. A cynic. So maybe my glass is perpetually half-empty. Still, it doesn't make the evidence any less clear. Doesn't make my past any less of a pattern.

She was perfect. That's what I remember thinking the most when we first started going out. She was tall, beautiful. Fun, intelligent, and the kicker -- she loved me. I couldn't figure it out. Why would she have picked me out of the entire group of Marines at the bar that night? Why was it me she sat down with, shared a few drinks and a few stories? Why was I the one that ended up with her phone number?

I never have figured that out. I wasn't her type. I knew that, even back then. I'm shorter than she is; I'm older. I'm not a jock stud like those other shmoes I was out with. I'm not perfect.

She was. Still is. Absolutely perfect. 

And despite my lack of understanding, I had convinced myself somewhere along the line that what the two of us had was gonna last forever. I figured this beautiful woman had found some happiness with me. And though it made me wonder about her mental state, I didn't doubt that it was real.

I forgot to be cynical with her. I took the chance that maybe she could fill up that half-empty glass of mine. And for a while, she did.

Then she got sick of me. I think she might've gotten tired of the strange looks we got when we went out -- guys staring at me wondering how the hell I had landed someone like her. Trying to figure out if I was rich or something. 

She saw those looks, and started to realize they were right. 

She's got a few different reasons why she left. My paranoia's the big one. She was a pretty free spirit, and eventually my attempts to protect her were perceived as trying to stifle her. 

You love something, let it go. That's what they say, right? But I couldn't. I was scared as hell she wouldn't come back. Call me selfish, but it was more important to me to hold on to her because I loved her, than to know whether she really loved me or not.

Maybe because I figured she didn't. She couldn't. She deluded herself into saying she did, but no way did she love me. I wasn't enough. 

So she left. 

And it's funny, but I never realized how much Darien was like Viv. Not until we spent a night in the same bed.

He's perfect. Tall, young, with women throwing themselves all over him. Intelligent, as much as he tries to hide it. And he's brave and strong enough to be holding himself together through this gland being in his head.

Perfect. And here he is, deluding himself into thinking he loves me. 

I'm gonna lose him, like I lost her. I know it. I haven't changed at all -- I'm still not good enough. And you know something? Despite my feigned ego and cocky attitude, if I could change, I would. In an instant. But I can't. I can't help the way I am. I can hate it, but I can't change it. 

So yeah, he's gonna take off. Soon as he starts getting those looks -- the disbelieving looks when people figure out he's with another guy, and then the even more disbelieving ones when they see the guy he's with. 

I'm trying not to delude myself this time. I have to keep reminding myself that this is gonna be a short and sweet kind of thing. I can't let him fill up that glass. I can't let myself believe him when he says he loves me. 

It's hard. The kid's pretty adamant about it. I think that maybe he senses I don't believe him. I think that maybe he can see some of that sadness I can't hide completely when I tell him I love him, too.

I've had a long time to come to terms with what I am. I'm a joke. A walking punch line. I'm a drugged up federal agent, paranoid and ridiculous. I can't manage to get respect from even the people I work for. 

But Darien says he loves me.

I think, after he comes to his senses and drops me on my ass, I'm gonna ask him. I never asked Viv, but I'm gonna ask Darien -- what the hell made him think he felt something for me? Is there some kind of vibe I send out that tells people I need their pity and affection? If there is, I gotta do something about it. I can't take this a third time. When Darien leaves, I think that'll be it for me. I don't think I could humor another person who fell for that vibe of mine. Hurts too damned much.

I love him. Pathetic. 

No, I don't love him. I adore him. He's taken over my life in such a short period of time. He's closer to me than Viv was, I think. We have to work together, we have to trust each other with our lives. That kind of thing either drives people apart or brings them even closer together. For us, we got close. Real close. And I adore him now.

Fuck.

I don't know anymore if my glass is half full or half empty or what. I wish I could find that glass and just break it against a wall. I'm sick of people filling it up for me and then pouring it all out.

Damn, I get big on metaphors when I'm depressed.

"Hobbes?"

He's awake now. I guess I was thinking too loud. He says I do that a lot. Funny guy.

"C'mon, Hobbes. Need yer rest." 

He slurs when he's tired. It's kinda cute.

"I'm good. Just thinking." I flash a grin down at him, hoping the room's dark enough to hide how fake the expression feels.

"Thinking too loud," he mumbles back. Told you he said that a lot.

"Sorry. I'll put the dampers on."

He moves, and I hope for a moment he's gonna roll over and sleep. But he doesn't. He sits up.

Damn.

"Bobby, what's wrong?"

First name. Sign of trouble. He says the Bobby for when he's feeling really emotional. 

"Nothing much. Just got some things on my mind."

Funny thing about Darien -- as shallow as he acts sometimes, he's a real perceptive guy. He always seems to know what I'm thinking about. Maybe I'm actually thinking loud enough for him to hear. Who knows?

"Bobby…" He leans in to me, puts an arm around me. 

I get that warm feeling all over, same as every time he touches me. I'm totally gone for this kid. It's gonna feel really cold when he leaves.

"Bobby, I'm not Vivian."

That catches me off guard. "What? Who said I was thinking about her?"

He doesn't answer. "I wish you'd trust me enough to know I'm not going to leave. I'm not like her, okay?"

Yeah. Okay. Great. Problem solved. 

I smile at him, despite my cynical thoughts. "It may take me a while. Keep saying it, you'll wear me down."

He smiles back, and his hand starts moving up and down, stroking my back. "Need some help getting to sleep?"

There goes that warmth again, only this time it flows right on down between my legs. Darien's got this thing he does with his voice when he's being lascivious -- it gets low, kinda rough. Sexy as hell, as strange as it is for me to hear myself think that.

I know exactly what Darien's cure is for insomnia. It works, and it's mind-blowing. So, of course, I take him up on the offer.

Sex has never been a problem for me. Even these young types I keep attaching myself too can hardly keep up with me. God knows where I get the energy, but I do.

So even while I'm lying here, touching him, kissing him, whatever, reflecting on how good it feels, I can't help but think that it won't be enough to hold on to him.

I'm losing him. Because of who and what I am, I'm gonna lose him.

It hurts, but the joy I've got while he's here is almost enough to neutralize that pain. 

Sometimes I wish I could stop thinking so damned loud. I do. I wish I could find a way to make it shut off. I wish I could stop thinking of half-empty glasses and the harsh inevitabilities of life. 

I wish I could believe him. I wish I hadn't believed her. 

"Oh…God, Bobby. I love you."

I wish it didn't hurt so much every time he said those words.


End file.
